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Hanging above Martin in a net were three bales of straw soaked in oil. A pair of fire arrows was shot into them, setting the bundles ablaze. The rope holding the bales was cut and the pile came down. When it struck the floor, it exploded into a massive ball of fire, forming a curtain of flames across the hall that would halt the Keshians for another two or three minutes.
Martin crawled furiously forward, having been missed by the falling bales by less than a yard. He felt the heat wash over him as he gained his feet and started to run into the kitchen. The straw would burn out quickly, and soon the Keshians would be kicking the smouldering remnants out of their way.
Martin hurled himself down the stairs to the first basement. The entire room had been filled with more oil-soaked straw with every loose piece of timber, furniture from the rooms above, and kindling they could find stacked on top. A soldier waited for him, torch in hand.
As he reached the man, he said, ‘Now!’ and the soldier threw the torch as far across the basement as he could, and then both of them dived through the portal while two others pulled the heavy wooden door shut behind them.
As they secured the door with a large brace jammed into place they heard the whooshing sound of the flames igniting. ‘We don’t have much time,’ said Martin.
They ran down the steps to the smaller sub-basement where men were already entering the escape tunnel. He motioned for the man before him to enter and waited until he vanished from sight. Shouting after him he cried, ‘Clear the tunnel as fast as you can.’
He could hear the crackle of flames above and knew that it would be close to a half hour before the Keshians could brave the fire in the basement below the kitchen. Martin wasn’t going to give them a half hour.
He waited until he was certain that his men were more than half-way through the tunnel, then went to a large chain in the corner of the room. It led up through a series of pulleys in the wall to the roof of the tower known as the ‘Magicians’ Tower’ because it was where Pug and his mentor, the magician Kulgan, had resided decades before. He hauled down hard on it and as he had suspected was met with resistance as the old mechanism hadn’t been used in almost a century. His grandfather had tested it once, but since then the old valvework at the top of the tower had remained untested. Martin hoped it still worked and that the trap his ancestor had devised would still be effective.
At the very top of the Magicians’ Tower a mechanism released a canister of twenty gallons of what was called ‘Quegan Fire’: a mix of naphthaline, sulphur, limestone and fine coal dust. This would create a massive fireball when dropped into the flames in the keep entrance, two floors above Martin’s head. It had been constructed as a last resort, a means of denying the castle to an invader.
As soon as Martin felt the click of the mechanism engage, he yanked hard, then sprinted for the entrance. He was forced to make his way bent forward, for the tunnel was too low for him to run upright. He reached the first marker, and grabbed the two ropes attached to the supports for the overhead shoring. He hauled on them and felt earth fall on him and heard timbers creaking. A short moment later he felt a compression of the air as the tunnel collapsed behind him. Then there was a dull thud and he knew the Quegan Fire canister had exploded.
It would burn hotter than a blacksmith’s forge. Any man in the keep not able to reach a door would be incinerated or die as the air was sucked from their lungs by the voracious fireball. If, as Martin suspected, the Keshians had pressed hard expecting desperate resistance in the keep, the Keshian commander would just have lost at least two hundred Dog Soldiers in the conflagration.
Martin reached a second set of ropes and pulled them, even though he knew the first fall had worked. More earth fell as he hurried along.
It seemed to take forever to get out of the tunnel and then suddenly he was outside. Instantly a pair of arms wrapped around him and Bethany was hugging the breath out of him.
He hugged her back then held her at arm’s length. ‘I thought I told you to leave with the wounded, again?’
‘You did, again.’ She was dressed in the same hunting clothes she had worn when last she had come to Crydee, when her arrow had taken down the wyvern which he and Brendan had faced.
‘Why are you still here?’
‘Waiting for you,’ she said, as if that was all the explanation needed.
He glanced around and saw that Sergeant Ruther was there as well with an additional ten men along with the twenty who had preceded Martin through the tunnel. ‘Report,’ said Martin.
‘Everyone safely out, sir.’ Ruther smiled. ‘Everyone,’ he repeated.
Martin looked back, but his view of the keep was blocked by the large rise from which the tunnel exited. He climbed up on top of it, over the reinforced door. He could not quite make out the keep through the trees between himself and the castle, but he could see a massive pillar of dark smoke rising overhead.
Bethany came to stand beside him and said, ‘Now?’
‘Now we head east. The Keshian commander needs to regroup and reorganize. We may steal a day on him, no more.’
He took her by the hand and led her down from the rise.
Sergeant Ruther said, ‘That’s a nasty business old Duke Martin built into the keep, isn’t it?’
‘According to the histories, he had some experience with Quegan Fire used to destroy a position so that the enemy couldn’t occupy it,’ said Martin. ‘The retreat from Armengar; I read his notes on why he installed it, how to maintain it, and when to use it.’
With a grin the sergeant said, ‘It’s a lovely thing you’re such a fine student, sir.’
Martin shook his head in self-disgust. ‘Fine student? I lost the keep in less than a week. Even the Tsurani couldn’t take it in months.’
Sergeant Ruther’s expression turned stern. ‘You’re tired, young sir, but that’s no excuse for losing your perspective. You held out for a week with less than a hundred trained soldiers and a handful of boys and old men.
‘Prince Arutha had Swordmaster Fannon and Sergeant Gardan, Martin Longbow himself, and over three hundred trained soldiers, and another three hundred men of the town. You’re not the only one who’s read some history.’ He put his hand on Martin’s shoulder. ‘You got everyone out, sir. From the start of the siege until today you’ve lost two men, both on the wall before the retreat, and three unfortunate town lads who were by them, and suffered less than two dozen wounded. Even some I thought wouldn’t make it did, thanks in great part to Lady Bethany’s tender care.’ His voice became hoarse. ‘Think about it. Two soldiers, no more. Now, put on a stern face and lead this lot. We still have a long way to go to reach safety.’
Martin took a deep breath. ‘Who do we have?’
‘Your twenty, my ten, and the lady.’
Martin glanced at Bethany and grinned. ‘Well, at least we have one decent archer with us.’
‘That we do.’
‘East now, and let’s put as much distance between us and Crydee as possible. That Keshian commander will have to wait a fair bit before that fire cools off enough to inspect the wreckage of the keep.’
‘True enough,’ said Ruther. ‘Never seen anything burn hotter than Quegan Fire.’
‘But once he does he’s going to notice there are only Keshian bodies in the rubble and if he bothers to dig, he’ll find the sub-basement, or even if he doesn’t, he’ll assume there was such a way out and come looking for us. We’ll go east and if we don’t encounter Father and his column before we get to the Jonril cut-off, we’ll head to the garrison there and hunker down until he does show up. We’ll send a lookout up to the cut-off and when he arrives we’ll join him. If he doesn’t … That will mean either the fast riders didn’t overtake Father before Ylith or were killed before they reached him. If we don’t hear from Father within ten days, we move on to Ylith.’
The Sergeant nodded. ‘Wise plan.’
They moved out along a game trail that would lead them to the eastern road two miles away. Once there it would be easier to move, but they would be in the open, exposed. Much of the heavy forest to the north and south of the road had been cleared for farmsteads, cattle pasture, and sheep meadows.
As they moved along the trail, Martin asked Sergeant Ruther, ‘How are we for provisions?’
‘Well enough. Each man carries a bag of food and a skin of water, enough so that we won’t have to worry about starving until we reach safety.’
‘Any sign of Keshians while you waited?’
‘None to speak of. One bunch came looping around behind us an hour before you set the trap. Small patrol, about six men. We let them go by and they had no idea we were near. I don’t think this particular lot has any forest skills. Made enough noise that we heard them coming and were safely hidden. Don’t speak their language but they were jabbering about something like a bunch of fishwives.’ He glanced around. ‘Nothing since then.’
They continued to move, strung out in loose formation, moving purposefully and as quietly as possible. The sounds of chaos from Crydee quickly fell behind them and they reached the road without incident.
‘We’ve a full six hours of good light,’ said Martin. ‘Let’s rest for a few minutes, then get moving.’ He glanced at Ruther. ‘I want a man ahead and a man behind. Your fastest runner behind, for if we’re overtaken he’ll need to scurry along.’
‘Jackson Currie!’ shouted the sergeant.
A slender soldier ran up, ‘Sir!’
‘Run down the road, see what’s behind us, and linger a bit. Don’t catch us up until sundown, there’s a good lad.’
The soldier nodded, saluted, and ran off down the road. Sergeant Ruther detailed another soldier to go ahead and act as point, while the remainder of the company rested a little. At last Martin said, ‘Let’s go.’
They began their long march from their lost home to what they hoped would be safety.
The rear guard came racing up the road, shouting, ‘Riders!’
Martin hesitated only for a second then he motioned for everyone to sprint into the trees and brush, a dozen yards off the road down a slope. They half-ran, half-tumbled into the thicket and lay motionless.
Peering through the undergrowth, Martin saw a dozen riders coming up the road from Crydee. They were loping along and glancing from side to side occasionally, but not showing any particular urgency or alertness. They were dressed in a similar fashion to the Dog Soldiers who had stormed the keep, except that instead of a steel spike atop their helms, they had a sharp blade running fore and aft. Their helmets had noseguards and their cloaks were very dark blue, almost black, thrown back to reveal the usual cuirass and flannel shirt beneath, and heavy trousers tucked into their boots.
The one unusual mark was a belt of leopardskin that was worn around the lower edge of the helmet where the neckguard chain was attached.
After they rode past, Ruther said, ‘I’ve heard of them. They’re called the Leopards.’ He rolled over onto one side and continued to whisper. ‘I didn’t see horses unloaded and the Keshians didn’t appear to have any. We certainly didn’t leave any ridable mounts behind: your father took them all.’
‘They must have offloaded them yesterday, before the final assault.’
‘But what is an outfit like that doing riding down the road out here?’
‘Looking for us,’ said Bethany from behind Martin.
‘No,’ said Sergeant Ruther. ‘I mean of all the places Kesh could have chosen to send a top-of-the-line command of cavalry like the Leopards, why the Far Coast? You’d think they’d send them to Krondor or maybe into the Vale where the fighting is bound to be heaviest.’
Martin said, ‘Unless you want them where they didn’t expect much resistance.’ He looked thoughtful. Eventually he said, ‘Sergeant, I want you to take to the forest and move parallel to the road. Those Keshians aren’t going to be patrolling for more than another hour so you should catch them coming back, then take to the road and keep going. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can.’
Bethany grabbed his arm from behind. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘Back to Crydee.’ He gently pulled away from her and stood up. Kneeling before she could rise, he gave her a quick kiss and said, ‘I have an idea and I need to see what is going on in the town. Now, go with Sergeant Ruther and try not to cause too much trouble.’ Then he was off, darting through the trees.
With a sigh, Ruther stood and extended his hand down to Bethany. When she slapped it aside he chuckled and turned to the line of men in the woods. He covered his mouth in the sign for ‘no talking’, pointed into the woods then pointed towards them, then back to himself, telling them to fall in behind and follow him.
‘Do you—’ began Bethany.
The sergeant quickly but gently covered her mouth. ‘No talking, Lady Bethany. Now, let’s go.’
Before she could say another word, he moved into the trees and the other men began to follow.
Martin ran down the road and then slowed to a trot. He’d have to pace himself or he’d collapse before he even knew exhaustion had hit him. He was young and fit but he had been without sleep for the better part of three days, had hardly eaten, and had endured his first battle. He stopped, put his hands on his knees and took a deep breath. He was feeling dizzy. Certainly not a good sign.
He slowed his breathing for a moment, then heard voices coming from the west. His fatigue forgotten, he hurried down the side of the road to a stand of trees and moved parallel to the road as best he could.
He could smell char and smoke and knew the breeze from the harbour was blowing it toward him. At least the Keshians wouldn’t smell him coming.
He saw a small copse of wild apple trees and grabbed one of the fruits. It was slightly sour, but he needed the nourishment. He chewed slowly, not wanting to give himself a stomach ache.
It took him nearly an hour to work his way carefully northward, first crossing the main road then moving along a series of game trails through thinning woodlands. He and his brothers had played here as children then later had hunted in this vicinity.
Crydee Harbour was marked at the southern end by a pinnacle of rock and a rising bluff known as Sailors’ Grief. To the north the circle was suddenly cut off by a massive bluff with a fifty-foot drop to the beach below. From the junction of that bluff and beach a series of stones that jutted above the water even at high tide ran out to a small island. That rocky path and island had been filled in with quarried stones until a man-made jetty with dock had been fashioned, named Longpoint. At the end of it rose up the Longpoint Lighthouse.
The bluffs to the north of Longpoint had served the first Duke and his son as a makeshift lighthouse and lookout station until a proper lighthouse had been constructed. On top of the bluffs the stones of that old watch post still rested.
Martin reached that point after an hour of climbing and looked down onto Crydee harbour. ‘Gods!’ he said aloud.
What looked to be at least two hundred Keshian ships were at anchor. He could see two more sailing out to sea, and another two sailing in while about thirty ships in the harbour were being serviced by a dozen or more ferries, carrying cargo to the docks. The activity was frenzied and so widespread that the Keshians were offloading cargo onto the rocky shore to the south of the town’s docks, and thence to the rickety smaller quay before the fishing community directly below where Martin stood.
But what astonished him the most was that more and more people were coming ashore. A second wave of men, women, and children were entering Crydee Town, and from their varied skin colour and garb they were obviously from many different places in Kesh. Many of them had animals, oxen pulling wagons, horses on leads – not war horses but dray animals – donkeys, mules, and cages of chickens and geese. Even a brace of spitting angry camels was being led into the town.
Martin stood in stunned amazement.
He sat down and took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. Nothing he saw below him made sense. Out of the three brothers, he was the student of history. More than just studying battles and the lines of nobles, he had delved into the causes of war and the results.
Kesh had expanded rapidly over the three preceding centuries, its people moving across the Straits of Darkness from Elarial up to what was now Tulan. They had built their first garrison there, then an expedition north from there had found the wonderful harbour at Carse and the smaller harbour below. A fourth harbourage far to the north also was found and at one point Kesh tried to build there, calling it Birka. But that settlement had been the first obliterated by the dark elves, the Brotherhood of the Dark Path as humans came to call them.
History showed that Kesh had expanded too far and too fast, and could not support the ancient province of Bosania, as Crydee and the Free Cities were called. The coast of the Bitter Sea colonies prospered, so that when Kesh withdrew, they had been strong enough to resist the expansion westward of the Kingdom of the Isles. But it had been Martin’s ancestor who had ridden over the very trail from Ylith that his men were now fleeing down, to arrive here at Crydee.
The only reason Crydee had become the capital of the duchy was that his ancestor had taken the old Keshian fortification and built upon it, waging a ten-year campaign to conquer Carse and then Tulan. When it was over, Queg was an independent kingdom, the colonies in Natal had become the Free Cities, Ylith had become the southernmost city of Yabon Province, and that had remained the status quo for over two hundred years.
Now Kesh was back and it was clear they were reclaiming all of ancient Bosania. They were not only bringing their armies, they were bringing in colonists hard on their heels. They were obviously going to be bringing in their own logistical support, peopling farms and pastures, logging camps and cutting mills, mines, and fisheries with Keshians.
Martin was no expert on such subjects, but it looked to him as if they had brought enough of Kesh with them that they could occupy the entire Duchy of Crydee … He stopped.
Suddenly he knew exactly what Kesh was doing. If he desired one thing in life as much as Bethany’s kiss, it would be word from her father as to what was occurring in Carse. Because if he was to wager everything he had, he would bet that the entire Keshian invasion force had sailed right past Carse and Tulan, perhaps leaving a screen of ships to keep the Kingdom warships bottled up in those two harbours, and then landed here. They weren’t going to occupy all of Crydee, just the north!
And he knew why.
Wishing he could just lie down here on the rocks and sleep for a week, Martin pushed aside his exhaustion and started back down the hill. Glancing at the midday sun, he considered that with luck he might be able to overtake his men and Bethany after sunset.
He ran down the slopes from the bluffs into the woods below.
As he reached a drop in the road, in darkness, Martin could make out fires ahead and hear the sound of horses. He wondered if it might be those Keshians Ruther called ‘the Leopards’, and if so where were Bethany, Ruther, and the men?
He crept up to the edge of the clearing and saw men there in the brown tabards of Crydee. Feeling relief flood through him, he shouted, ‘Hello the camp! Coming in!’
One step later he was surrounded by guards, who took a moment to recognize him. ‘Martin! they greeted him.
Bethany was sitting near the fire next to Brendan. Martin smiled and walked over as quickly as he could. He smelled food cooking and was suddenly ravenous.
His brother rose and came around the campfire to embrace him. ‘Martin, I was worried.’
‘We all were,’ said Bethany and Martin saw an expression on her face that made his heart sink.
He looked around and realized something momentous. ‘Where’s Father?’ he asked quietly, knowing the answer before it came.
Brendan looked to the east along the road. ‘Goblin raiders. They jumped us before they realized how many we were. One wounded Father and he fainted, but when he fell ... he broke his neck.’
Sergeant Magwin joined them. ‘We buried him near the road, Martin, and marked it well. When this is over we’ll fetch him home.’
Martin felt empty inside. Of all the things he had imagined, his father not being at the head of this column had never been one of them. He sat down next to Bethany and a plate of food and a skin of water was presented to him. ‘Eat, drink,’ she said. ‘I know you’ve no stomach after such news, but you must revive yourself.’
Martin was numb. Exhaustion, fear, and the stress of battle had worn him to a nub inside. He knew he should be weeping or shouting in rage or something at the news of his father’s death, yet he felt almost nothing, as if the sense of loss was a distant thing. He was silent for a long moment, then just said, ‘Father?’ He let out a long sigh and took the food.
‘What of Crydee?’ asked Brendan.
‘They’re not simply landing an invasion force. They’re moving a colony in.’
‘Colony?’ asked Ruther.
